Thursday, November 19, 2009

The Great Cannabinoilis Pekoe

By Redphantom Xenpsychous

The sun was setting as I sat in a neon green bean bag chair in a room with hot pink walls. To my left was sitting a shrine dedicated to former president George W. Bush and to my right, there was a shrine under construction to the recently deceased Michael Jackson. On the wall, next to the window there was a big poster of Richard Nixon. At other places in the room, there were also posters of James Buchanan, Andrew Johnson, Grover Cleveland, Ulysses S. Grant, Herbert Hoover, Calvin Coolidge, Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush. The sound that filled the air was a compilation of all Bush Jr.'s best speeches spliced with the music of Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers. The air I breathed in, was completely clean and sterile, the whole room was itself completely clean and sterile. All except for one corner where there was a pile of gay porn, dildos, chains, and other S&M equipment. As I sat in my lonely bean bag chair, staring out the window with a massive hunting knife in my hands I had to remind myself that contrary to every indication around me, I was not in hell.

The door to the room opened and a voice asked, “What are you doing in my room, Red?” I was disappointed that my roommate Terry had arrived home before my ever important work could be done.

Still, I graced him with an answer, “Have I ever told you what I think about Batman, Terry?”

Terry sighed, “Red, you said you were only going to be creepy twice a week...we signed a binding legal contract...” Terry paused for a moment and then added, “And you're never going to get any friends this way.”

I stood up and walked towards the window before saying to Terry, “I think that the world would be a better place if there were a real Batman.” I paused for dramatic effect, “That's why, I'm going to have a young boys parents killed right in front of him tonight, on our front lawn.”

“What?” replied Terry at once, “Red, are you high?”

“Call me Lord Xenpsychous.” I whispered.

“Ok...” Terry nervously said, “You have taken this prank way too far...” Terry walked up to me and turned to me to say something before looking out the window in horror. Then he said to me, “Red, there's actually a couple with a young child out there.”

I nodded, “Yes, and soon, that young child is going to see his parents murdered before his very eyes.”

“Jesus Christ...” Terry said in horror, “How did you even get them to come here after the incident last Halloween?”

I smiled, “The promise of top notch jewelry for seventy five cents. Gives the thief something to steal.” Then I looked at Terry and said, “And I have since admitted that the witch burnings were in bad taste. I didn't know she was only fourteen when I told her that I would spare her life if she masturbated with a broomstick, and I didn't realize that nobody knew I was just joking. I just thought she was into splinters.”

“Only you could...” Terry started before saying, “Is that homeless man carrying a submachine gun?”

“I want this kid to be scared shitless.” I replied, staring at the homeless man walking up to the family of three as if he were drunk.

The woman was confused, “I don't have a...” the homeless man gunned her down before she could finish the sentence. Then he dropped the submachine gun and staggered forward, taking an entire bottle of whiskey out of his pocket and drinking all of it. The homeless man came face to face with the father, who stood motionless with a shocked expression. The homeless man promptly tackled the father and bit off half of his face. Then the homeless man took an arrowhead out of his pocket and used it to gauge out one of the father's eyes. The homeless man then dug the arrowhead into the man's stomach, using it to move the man's intestines into the cold pavement. The homeless man then turned to the boy, smiled, threw him the arrowhead, and staggered off towards the submachine gun. The homeless man picked it up and began to whistle as he walked away.

Terry quietly whispered, “Dear Jesus.”

I yelled, “Don't forget the bat!”

The homeless man stopped, turned around, mumbled something that sounded like the words, “Oh yeah.” and then took a dead bat from his pocket and threw it at the young boy's head before saying, “You just became Batman.” and then pumping the boy full of bullets with the submachine gun and running off screaming like maniac.

Terry again said, “Oh dear Jesus.”

I nodded my head, “Yeah, I didn't mean for that to happen.” I paused with a look of confusion on my face, “What's this?” I struggled to find the words I was looking for, “What's this I'm feeling?” I rubbed my chin and said, “It's like a torturing sense of guilt one feels for his actions...” Then I paused and said slowly, “This is new.” After this I sighed and said, “I think I actually belong in your room now, Terry.” I started to shake.

I stared out the window once again. In the street outside of my house, the father of the boy began to try and move. An old black man with an afro walked up to the dying white one, and said, “You don't look so good, friend.”

“No.” coughed the dying white man, “I just witnessed my wife and son get murdered, and then my intestines were ripped out of my body and thrown onto the ground.”

The black man frowned, “I don't think it happened in that order. You need to stay in school son, that way you can remember recent traumatic events in the correct order they occurred. Then you can be an overpaid white robber baron.”

The dying white man looked up at the black one, “I just had my intestines ripped from my body...”

“At least it looks just like the face of God.” the black man replied, “I know, I met him once when I was flying through the universe. He was chilling in a supernova and he said to me, 'Pekoe, get us some waffles, mashed potatoes, and chocolate syrup so that we may feast to celebrate this momentous occasion...Pluto is no longer a planet.'”

As Pekoe said this, the dying man inched closer to his wife, held her dead body in his arms and began to cry. Pekoe said, upon seeing this, “Don't do that son, it's unsanitary. She's dead. All sorts of diseases. Besides, necrophilia is wrong. You see, that sweet white pussy is never to be open again. It held it's out of business sale last week, ten orgasms for one dollar, and you missed it. Now the store's closed and if you hang around you'll just be a squatter, and no one likes a squatter.”

The dying man started weeping even harder, “They meant everything to me. I just want to die.”

Pekoe shook his head, “Come now, there's a lot left to live for. You could become a televangelist with the face of God hanging out your belly like that. Or maybe you could rent out the new space in your gut to the mushroom king. He sure would like that.” The dying man just kept crying. Pekoe continued, “Come on now, don't you think your wife would have wanted you to move on and find someone better?”

“No.” the dying man said, “No sex for weeks if I even looked at other women...she said she would castrate me if I ever cheated on her...”

Pekoe smiled, “Now I think I'm staring to see what's going on here, that wise wizard in shabby robes has slain the mighty succubus queen with his magical wonder stick so that you can have your freedom. No doubt on the orders of the immortal president Abraham Lincoln. Your shackles have been forever removed, rise up and rejoice over your new found freedom. Frolic through the fields of the clitoris. Savor each plant before moving along, and spare none for your cruel former mistress. Remember that you are freed for eternity from her whippings, her long hours, and her unfair regulatory laws.”

The dying man continued to sob, “You're not helping me at all.”

Pekoe shook his head, “My, my, we seem to have a real bad case of the blues don't we? Well, well, I know just the fix. Do you know what to do when you're feeling blue?”

“Die.” The man on the ground shrieked, “Just wallow in your own filth and die.”

“Nah.” Pekoe said, shaking his head, “You just need to go on down the rabbit hole and drink the Mad Hatter's white tea.” Immediately after Pekoe said this, a giant white rabbit jumped out of a manhole nearby, grabbed the dying man, and then went back into the sewers with him. Then the sound of music and different brightly colored lights started coming from the sewer. Pekoe began to tap his foot and nod his head to the beat of the tune, “That is some fine electrified funky music.” Pekoe said.

After ten minutes, a golden glass elevator arose from the manhole. It was glowing various shades of psychedelic colors. The dying man, now completely healthy and sporting an afro and platform shoes, emerged from the elevator with a very attractive female version of the Mad Hatter and a young humanoid rabbit child.

Pekoe smiled, “And so, just as he did with Job, the good lord has rewarded your sufferings by repaying what he took from you ten fold. Giving you a brand new wife and a better child.”

The white man looked at Pekoe and said, “Yeah dude, you were totally right about the white tea, it completely hit the spot and made me feel great.” The white man walked off with the young rabbit child and the female Mad Hatter.

Pekoe nodded, “Yep, they say that the white tea was made by the good lord himself, and he drank it and declared, 'It is good.' Then he made the holy seminal fluid and began to throw it about the Earth. Making from it the mountains, seas, valleys, plains, cats, dogs, and other beasts of land and sea. When he awoke, he found Adam, and God declared, 'I have made you in my own image, but you are not my son.' and then he said, 'Give me your rib, honky.'”

The homeless man pointed his submachine gun at Pekoe and shouted, “Give me all your money!”

“What is this?” Pekoe asked, and then stared into the homeless man's eyes for a few moments before saying, “I see, the carnival came to town a few weeks ago, and the wise wizard was tempted by the clown's heathen balloons filled to the brim with brown sugar. Up and away the balloon took him, through the dank, icy cold depths of space into the super massive black hole at the great galactic core where all the devils go to get down and party. For ten thousand years, all the good was sucked out of his clean soul by the milky way's awesome galactic Dyson vacuum cleaner, and bad vibes were strummed in by the gipper demon, thugin' R.W. Reagan. The brown sugar transfiguring slowly you into his loyal servant.” Pekoe took out a harmonica and played it, and after a while, the homeless man's head exploded. Pekoe put away his harmonica and cleaned himself of the blood, then he was completely surrounded in dense smoke.

Terry and I looked at each other. Terry asked, “What the hell just happened.”

“You boys ought not to need a television if you just sit around and stare out a window all the time.” a voice from behind us said. Terry and I both turned to see the mysterious Pekoe standing behind us.

Pekoe took a bow, and said, “Good evening Terry, Redphantom, my name is Cannabinoilis Pekoe, world famous architect of righteously funky jams.”

“Are you God?” asked Terry.

Pekoe came up to the window and replied, “No, though he and I have met a few times.” Pekoe stared at the dead bodies of a mother and child at the front of our house and said, “It's a damn shame when America is so corrupted that crimes such as that would take place in an distinguished neighborhood such as this.”

“Actually, I was just trying to turn that kid into Batman...” I said, “I was going to justify the deaths of the parents with all the lives Batman would save, but...since the kid died too, it's really just a waste.”

Pekoe sighed, “It's always a mighty bad thing when an emperor gives boys guns for toys and then sends them to fetch golden coins from the dragon's den.”

I felt nervous for a second before asking, “So...are you pissed that I killed those people?”

There was a pause, after which Terry asked Pekoe, “Do you hate white people?”

“Nah, I was just using that sentence as a beatin' stick to satirically smack the Christians.” replied Pekoe.

“Oh good.” Terry said.

Pekoe laughed and said, “I just made all that up, I do hate white people.” There was a long pause, “Nah, it was satire.” Pekoe paused before adding, “No, actually, I hate white people, or was it...maybe it was satire. Could have been that I hate white people...or possibly it was a stab at Christians.”

Terry and I both looked confused. I noticed that Pekoe was suddenly holding two eggs, one in each of his hands. He cracked them and the yolks fell up to the ceiling and began to sizzle. Pekoe said, “I just scrambled your minds.” Then he began to laugh.

Terry and I merely stared at the ceiling with our mouths wide open. That was all we were able to do. After a time, Pekoe said, “Don't lose your shit, kids, it's just a magic trick.”

“How did you do that?” Terry asked in monotone.

Pekoe grinned, “There once was a great carpenter who could turn wood into leaves, and he used to teach that from this day forward no magician shall unveil their secrets to the layman.”

At this point, my other roommate, the rapper Teaspoon, entered the room and exclaimed, “Granddaddy Pekoe!”

Pekoe laughed, “It's a name a black kid gets when he hangs out with Hindus all the time.”

Teaspoon said, “That means it's a type of Indian black tea.”

“And Cannabinoilis?” Terry asked.

“After the great godly Earth mother who's breast provides our tea with all it's goodness, love and warmth.” said Pekoe.

Teaspoon also explained this one, “Oil derived from cannabis, placed in tea to give it the same effects as smoking marijuana.”

Teaspoon waited a moment before asking, “So, why didn't you tell me you had gotten to town, Granddaddy Pekoe?”

Pekoe chuckled, “Oh you know, I was out working my magic and spreading my love before we had our visit.” he paused and said, “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must go to the great ceramic monument so that I may deposit my waste into the vast and deep caves of the underworld in the hopes that it may one day be cleansed of all sin.” Pekoe left the room, and then looked back at Terry and me, “You boys look awfully blue.”

“I did just kill three...well, two, innocent people.” I replied.

Terry shrugged, “You've seen my room.”

Pekoe shook his head, “That's mighty sad, boys, when you're down and feeling blue, all you need to do is go walk on over to the cruel king of aces and burn his golden grass.” With that, Cannabinoilis Pekoe walked off.

Terry stood staring at the door, mystified, “Wow, he was cool.”

Teaspoon smiled with pride, “Yep, that's my Granddaddy Pekoe.”

“That stuff he just said was really some really deep shit.” I said, “I wonder what it means.”

“It means go get high.” Teaspoon replied, “King is a drug dealer, aces are slang for joints, grass for marijuana, and two famous strains are golden. Quebec Gold and Acapulco Gold. My Granddad sings all of these songs, and everyone assumes they're deep shit about religion and true love, but really, half of them are just about getting high. Think about it, ain't no woman, God, angel or demon ever made a man that happy.” After saying this, Teaspoon left the room.

“Dude” Terry said, “We need to go get high.”

“I know.” Was my reply.

Terry and I set off to find a drug dealer, running around the neighborhood asking every person we saw if they knew where to find one. We kept running until we heard a voice say, “Slow down, dudes.” and we looked and turned to see that it was a lawn gnome who had spoken to us.

The lawn gnome asked us, “What can you possibly be in such a hurry for?”

“We are looking for the cruel king of aces.” I replied.

“Well why didn't you just ask someone for help?” said the lawn gnome as he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, we would have helped you if you had asked.” said a dancing pineapple to the left of Terry and I. I looked around and saw that there was also a goat eating potato chips, an armadillo sprawled out on the street, an iguana licking a ball of yarn, an tortoise watching television, and a flamingo who didn't seem to be doing much of anything at all.

“Have you heard of the cruel king of aces?” Terry asked the pineapple.

“Yes...wait...what...no, I don't think I have.” the pineapple said with a wide smile and a slight giggle as he kept dancing.

I sighed, “Damn man, we need to find him so we can burn his golden grass and get really high.”

The flamingo looked at me and said, “You don't need the golden grass to get high man, that's because the real golden grass is in your soul.” After she had said this, the trees behind her began flapping their limps and flew away into outer space.

The tortoise crawled up to the flamingo and slapped her in the face, “Naive bitch,” he said, “Don't you see that there is no king of aces, there is no golden grass. It's all a trick, an illusion to keep you under control.” The tortoise slapped the flamingo again, “There is no king of aces, it's all the king of spades. He's got you locked down you see, tied up, and all of this is just a movie, a movie projected onto the walls of a cave and you're stuck tied up watching it, not knowing the difference between it and reality.”

The iguana paused from licking the yarn for a moment and said, “Man, you're a dick.” Then everyone burst out in uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.

The armadillo rolled towards Terry and me, and said to us, “I think I may know who knows where the king of aces is.”

“Who?” Terry asked.

“Carl” The armadillo responded. Then the armadillo shouted, “Carl, Carl, get over here, Carl.”

A cactus walked over to where the three of us were standing. Carl the Cactus said, “What?”

“Do you know where the king of aces lives?” asked the armadillo.

“What?” Carl asked.

“The king of aces, Carl...” replied the armadillo, “Do you have any idea where he lives?”

“Oh...” said Carl and then he thought about it, “No man, I have no idea where he lives.”

Terry looked at me and asked, “What now?”

I replied, “I have no idea.”

Then there was a sudden flash of light and smoke, and from the smoke emerged a cat dressed in a wizard's clothing. “Behold, I am Merlin of the noble family Felidae,” The cat said, “And I can take you to the king of aces so that we may all burn his golden grass.”

Sasquatch rode in on a unicycle. He yelled, “But do any of you really want to burn the golden grass?”

The iguana nodded his head, “Yeah man, we've been talking about it for like, hours.”

Sasquatch sighed, “I had a friend once. We used to play on the playground together, eat icecream, play video games, and sometimes, sometimes I'd even take him into the forest against his will and sodomize him for hours.” Sasquatch passed for a moment, looking up and fantasizing about this before adopting a more serious expression and saying, “Then my friend burned the golden grass. And after that, he wouldn't talk to me anymore. He said I wasn't real, that I was just a hallucination in his mind. Now do you see what happens when you do drugs? You see cryptids. And then, because you were high, nobody will believe that we exist. I know I'm real, god damn it. None of you are going to tell me I'm not real.”

There was a short pause and a few giggles at this last line before Sasquatch went on, “You may think this is just a game, but every time you do drugs, you're denying a basic right to cryptids. How are we supposed to lobby for voting rights if people don't acknowledge we exist? I wanted to vote for Sarah Palin. How can anyone deny that we are intelligent creatures? How can they lock us up in zoos? Pretending that I am just an abnormally tall ape with a highly developed language center. So what if I like bananas? I'm not an ape. I'm a Bigfoot, and proud of it. But I can't show it, because no one acknowledges I exist. Therefore denying me the basic right to vote. You see, every time you smoke, it's just downright Un-American. Benjamin Franklin would hate you. So, guys, why not sober up?” There was more laughter at this.

Merlin the cat wizard of Felidae rose up after this and yelled at Sasquatch, “Imbecile! We are not high, we are merely experiencing a heightened reality.”

The Sasquatch started to ask, “What?” but he was interrupted when Merlin shot a lightning bolt at his ass. Sasquatch fell to the ground and began to moan in pain.

Merlin rubbed his chin and played with his whiskers, “That's odd, one lightning bolt should not have been enough to knock a Sasquatch to the ground...”

“You fools,” the tortoise started as he began to crawl to the Sasquatch, “Do you not see that this is merely a man in a Sasquatch suit?” the tortoise unzipped the Sasquatch suit, revealing a man dressed in formal business attire. The tortoise yelled, “He is an agent of the king of spades sent here to spread his vile lies.”

The agent stood up and said, “Actually, I was just sent by congress.”

The tortoise slapped the agent in the face, “You rat bastard, don't lie to me about your true king. I know the truth.”

I walked up to the agent and asked, “So, why did you make all the Sasquatch shit up?”

The agent replied, “It may be a lie, but it's the only way to keep kids off of drugs...”

“Why don't you just point out to kids that the penalty for expressing their God given right to do drugs is imprisonment comparable to that of serial murderers? And that, if they smoke weed, they will be locked up with rapists, murderers, and pedophiles.” I replied before adding, “Emphasize that last one.”

Terry laughed, “He would do that Red, but it would be a loaded sentence designed to convince someone to take the author's stance on a subject. It's not his job to teach the kids how to think. It's his job to educate them...” Terry paused and said, “Wait, the penalties for using drugs are comparable to those of murderers and rapists?”

Batman's head popped out of the agent's chest and said, “That's right, what you have done is worse than murder, two murders, you are attempting to drown out your sins with greater sins, but it won't work Redphantom. I will bring you to justice one day.”

Everyone paused for a while to ponder this, then the goat, still eating his potato chips, said, “Man, I'm hungry.” He looked at the agent and said, “Dude, let's eat his brains.”

At this, all of the people, plants, and animals present began to eat the agent. The agent began to scream, “I can hear you.” It was no longer his voice, and it seemed to be coming from a megaphone. It was a voice that was familiar to me, but I couldn't quite figure out who's it was. It started again, louder, booming, “I can hear you. The rest of thew world hears you. And the people, And the people who knocked these building down will hear all of us soon.” There was some incomprehensible chanting after this and then the agent screamed, “The nation, the nation sends it's love and compassion...”there was some static, “to everybody who is here...” After this, the screams of the agent turned slowly into a mixture of songs from Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers. The sound waves were so powerful that they were visible as rainbow colored waves spewing from the agent's mouth.

The noise stopped once we had eaten the agent's entire body. Then there was the sound of an approaching vehicle, and a white van pulled up to us on the side of the road. The driver, a horse, rolled down his window and asked us, “Hey guys, you want to go to Six Flags?”

“Yeah, man, lets go to Six Flags.” said the iguana, and his response was echoed by several members of the group.

Thus, we all piled in the van and set off for Six Flags, but we ended up at Worlds of Fun instead.